


From Fable to Fumble

by TheThirdTemptationOfParis



Series: The Who Do You Love Series [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sherlock talks a lot, for purposes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:44:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8398540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThirdTemptationOfParis/pseuds/TheThirdTemptationOfParis
Summary: Sherlock knows that John needs to be reminded.





	

John’s left hand was shaking in his sleep. Sherlock could feel it. John’s chest was pressed against his back, his head in between his shoulder blades, and his left arm thrown over Sherlock’s waist. Sherlock brought the hand up to his mouth and kissed the palm, the wrist, the knuckles, and the platinum band that still resided there. It was cool against his lips, but Sherlock took a brief moment to be satisfied by the fact that John hadn’t believed him. He felt John tense, wakefulness spreading through his bones, and Sherlock’s grip on his hand tightened. “You were shaking, my love.” he whispered, kissing John’s hand again, “Where were you?”

John exhaled, his breath warm over Sherlock’s back. He reveled in it, the fact that John was alive, whole, and breathing. “Bart’s.” John said, voice small, “You said you lied. About everything.” Sherlock deflated a bit. He had known, back then, that he shouldn’t have said it. John, eventually, wouldn’t have believed it, because Sherlock had poured out his heart one too many times to be lying, but still he’d said it anyway. In the desperation of a moment.

Sherlock turned in John’s arms and he found his partner’s eyes closed tight, creases forming in his brow. Sherlock cupped his cheek, a gentle stroke on his cheekbone smoothing away the lines. “John, look at me.” John resisted for a moment, his eyes staying shut, but Sherlock was met by the sea of blue seconds later, “I lied. You know that, don’t you? That I could never, would never, convince you of such a thing. I knew, eventually, hopefully, that you wouldn’t believe a damn word I said on that roof because I could never lie to you. Well, I guess in some paradoxical way I did, but no matter. I can’t lie to you because you can read my soul better than I ever thought one person could.”

Sherlock pulled John’s forehead to his and closed his eyes, “Even if I had all the knowledge in the world, I could never have dreamt you, John. You’re a paradox in my own theory. The theory that I would die alone with nothing to my name, no one to love me when I’m gone, no one to remember the good I had done. But you walked in that January night and stole my heart. You tucked it in your pocket right in front of my eyes, but still I didn’t see you. You’re a thief, John Watson, and a bloody good one.

“I couldn’t comprehend the number of times you stayed. The pool, Irene, and all the fights in between. You were jealous and you loved me and I couldn’t believe it. You. Kind, brave, clever, incandescent, loved me. Not for who you thought I was but for who you knew. Who you saw on a daily basis. Stroppy, ill-tempered, too stuck in my own head. You saw all that and loved me anyway.” Sherlock nudged John’s face lightly with his own and kissed him, “ _I could never have dreamt you, my love. Never._ ” he whispered against John’s lips. The words were a promise. A seal.

“I love you more than all the words in any language can describe. There is no end to the depths of my love for you. You could reach into the bottom of my soul, and still find no end to it. We could live a thousand, no, a million lives together and you would never know the whole of it. You have taken me, consumed me, swallowed me whole, and I could never fight you. You are it for me, John Watson. Always and forever.” 

John cracked and clung to Sherlock, arms wrapping tightly around his back. He was shaking, falling apart in Sherlock’s arms, and Sherlock knew he should be held responsible for this. He could be held accountable for all of John's pain in this world, and he would bear it, if he must. “If I could've loved you sooner, I would have. If we could've somehow found our way to each other before you went off to war, before I found the needle, I would have. I would give anything to love you longer, if the universe would've allowed it. But if this is what I am given, I will take it happily and without argument because this, I know, is what love is. Anything else is false. _This_ is love. Have I convinced you yet?”

John nodded against his shoulder and stilled, kissing his collarbone and holding him close, his lips warm, his cheeks wet. “You could destroy me with one word, John, if you wanted to. You could knock me down and tear me apart completely. And I'd let you. There is nothing in this universe, however far and vast it may be, I would not do to keep you.”

Sherlock fell silent as John pieced himself back together slowly. Aftershocks from nightmares and memories were forgotten and verdigris eyes met blue and John spoke, “You complete and utter madman. How the hell am I supposed to top all that?” They laughed. “I love you so much, Sherlock. I could never have dreamt you, either. If it were possible, I would erase all thought except the thought of you. You are it, bee. The reason I live and breathe. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

As the sky turned bright with the dawn, and the two of them holding tight to each other, it was as if no one else existed at all.


End file.
